Faramir Fiction Archive

Tales from Gondor (R)

Written by Minx

23 September 2012 | 36179 words

Title: The Special Shire Meal
Author: Minx
Pairing: Aragorn / Faramir
Rating: PG
Warnings: Slash, fluff
Disclaimer: All characters and places are Tolkien’s.
Author’s Notes: Written for the ‘Dinner’ prompt for the 25fluffyfics LJ community. Many thanks to Iris for her help!
Summary: The hobbits hold a dinner party

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The hobbits had invited their dear friends for a specially cooked Shire meal. Merry and Pippin had cooked the meal, following the instructions and advice given by Frodo and Sam.

“I’m so glad you could all join us for dinner,” Pippin said beaming, “Merry and I have worked really hard to prepare all our favourite dishes. There’s ‘taters baked in butter, fruits with cream, turnip soup, fresh bread right out of the bakery – “

“It sounds excellent, Pippin,” Gandalf interrupted, “But can we start eating now?”

“We are all very glad to be here, Pippin, Merry,” Aragorn said, Gandalf a pointed look.

“Oh, and we’re really happy you returned early enough to join us for this meal, Faramir!” Merry piped up, “It was most kind of you to come over straight from the stables!”

“Thank you, Merry,” Faramir said softly, “It was very nice of you to leave a message for me at the stables.”

“You’re not back early,” Gandalf grunted, as the two hobbits rushed off to bring the food out, “Dinner is late!”

“Oh come, Gandalf, leave them be,” Legolas said smiling, “They’re young still. It stands to reason they may have underestimated the effort required!”

Gandalf simply snorted.

“And it is certainly nice to have Faramir back,” Gimli said, “How was your journey to Ithilien, lad? We missed you this last week.”

“Aragorn particularly missed you,” Elladan said rather sweetly.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and turned towards the rather embarrassed Steward sitting next to him.

“I certainly did,” he said simply, and wrapped an arm around the younger man’s shoulder to draw him close, and drop a kiss on his head.

“How did you lads manage to stay without dinner till now?” Gimli asked as Merry and Pippin bustled into the room with the soup and potatoes.

“Oh, we ate already,” Pippin said cheerfully, “We had a huge tea at Beregond’s house and an early dinner, since we knew we’d spend the evening preparing for this party. The citadel kitchens made stew today. It was lovely too. We’ll just join you for some bread and cheese, later.”

“The stew usually is,” Elrohir muttered, as he stared down at the potatoes placed in front of him. He poked a spoon into a blackened bit and added, “I wonder if there’s any of it left?”

Dinner started off quietly, as the soup turned out to be unseasoned and the potatoes burnt. Merry and Pippin continued to run between the table and the kitchen, bringing out extra plates and spoons. The guests sighed and continued sipping and chewing their way through the first course, until Faramir gasped suddenly, softly, and Gimli promptly let out an undignified sound.

“Hush… it’s not that bad,” Elladan said morosely.

“Somebody kicked me under the table,” Gimli said indignantly, glaring around the table.

Faramir who was seated across him in the corner, flushed suddenly, frowned at Aragorn and then replied hesitantly, “Forgive me… I didn’t… Aragorn… I mean, I was just stretching my legs, and –”

“Ah… that’s alright, lad,” Gimli said good naturedly, “You must be tired after riding so long.”

“You really should sit comfortably, Faramir,” Elrohir said, “Aragorn, you should move up a little and give him some space…”

Pippin walked in just then with the next course.

Dinner finished at a reasonable hour. The unseasoned soup and burnt potatoes were followed by underdone fish, and then for dessert, fruits and cream that had soured. The guests had stoically eaten what they could, and subsisted on bread, cheese, fruit and a large amount of berry wine, and some extremely pleasant and cheerful conversation.

They walked back to the citadel together, Gandalf leading the way, grumbling quietly. The others followed him at what they judged would be a safe distance.

Faramir yawned twice in succession and sighed.

“Tired?” Aragorn said gently, and slung an arm around his shoulders

“A little,” Faramir answered, “But not too much,” he smiled up at Aragorn.

“Really?” Elladan remarked with a pointed look at the Steward’s reddened lips and the marks on his neck, “But you two were so busy at dinner!”

Faramir reddened at that, while Aragorn simply snorted.

“Perhaps Elrohir, you had the right idea,” he said instead, “Perhaps we should see if the kitchens have any stew left. They really do make it well. And I’m hungry!”

“Yes,” Legolas said silkily, “You did seem a little preoccupied, squashing poor dear Faramir against the wall like that.”

“Yes,” Elrohir added, “And so busy under that table… kicking poor Gimli…

“As I was saying,” Aragorn interrupted loudly, firmly pulling a much mortified Faramir closer, “I would greatly like some stew instead. Oh dear, those potatoes… we must never let them plan another party!” he shuddered.

“Oh come now, it wasn’t that bad a party,” Faramir said.

“You liked the party?” Gimli asked incredulously.

“I liked the party,” Faramir said shrugging.

“Faramir, the food was terrible!” Elladan said bluntly.

“Oh, I didn’t really notice the food,” Faramir said, stifling a yawn as he spoke, “I don’t suppose I ate all that much. Weren’t the potatoes burnt?”

“But you said you liked the food!”

“No, I said I liked the dinner party. The company was excellent,” he smiled up at Aragorn again.

The king smiled back and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

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